


Dance with the Devil

by Arial



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-16 01:33:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2250885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arial/pseuds/Arial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A familiar, white-coated figure was standing a few feet away from him. His brother had been a huge guy: tall, broad-shouldered, all the ninety sasquatchey yard. Somehow, though, Sam had always managed to look smaller, less intimidating. The good cop to Dean’s short tempered, menacing one.<br/>The way his body now stood out into that beautiful garden was so painfully alien, so wrong.<br/>This isn’t Sam. Not really, Dean had to remind himself before he could raise the Colt at his brother’s back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance with the Devil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AryYuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AryYuna/gifts).



_“I used to be a little boy_  
 _so old in my shoes_  
 _and what I choose is my choice._  
 _What’s a boy supposed to do?_  
 _The killer in me is the killer in you._  
 _My love,_  
 _I send this smile over to you._  
 _Disarm you with a smile_  
 _and leave you like they left me here_  
 _to wither in denial._  
 _The bitterness of one who’s left alone._  
 _Ooh, the years burn_  
 _Ooh, the years burn, burn, burn.”_  
 _(Disarm – Smashing Pumpkins)_

 

 

 

The air was filled with the chaotic drum of several guns fired all at once. It was an hypnotic symphony, clanging and harsh. Yet it wasn’t the acrid sulfur that was brushing at his nostrils and pooling at the back of his throat, but the endearing scent of roses.  
Dean walked past a fence and right into a garden that back in the days must have been the pride of his keeper. He wondered if that green-thumbed fellow was still alive; maybe he was smashing croats’ heads with his rake, more likely he was pushing daisies somewhere. Or maybe he just switched pot and was one of the brainless, angry guys Cas and the others were shooting at.  
A familiar, white-coated figure was standing a few feet away from him. His brother had been a huge guy: tall, broad-shouldered, all the ninety sasquatchey yard. Somehow, though, Sam had always managed to look smaller, less intimidating. The good cop to Dean’s short tempered, menacing one.  
The way his body now stood out into that beautiful garden was so painfully alien, so wrong.  
 _This isn’t Sam. Not really_ , Dean had to remind himself before he could raise the Colt at his brother’s back.  
Lucifer turned towards him. Without the usual scowl turning his expression in a perpetual bitchface, Sam’s eyes were huge. They were staring at the world in childlike amazement, with a glint of mischief.  
«Hello, Dean» he said. «Aren’t you going to use the gun I’ve so kindly provided you with?»  
The hunter regarded the angel for a couple of minutes before silently lowering the Colt. He wasn’t going to use it. Not on his flesh-and-blood brother. Not ever.  
«I’m not.» Dean shook his head, confident as never before: he knew exactly where this was heading and he wasn’t afraid. «Your big brother would be so disappointed in me, I heard that he was very thorough in kicking your ass raw, back when you guys used to braid each other’s hair.»   
The smile on Lucifer’s face froze. If time was on his side and the book industry still a thing, Dean would write a pamphlet himself _how to make an archangel go berserk for dummies_ : the Devil went from cherub to homicidal maniac in less than a second.  
Just what he wanted.  
«It would have been useless,» Lucifer whispered as if he was sharing a secret of sort, «but I’ve always wondered if you had the strength to even try. I guess that answers my question.»  
«It’s such a pity that Michael isn’t as weak as I am,» Dean said, taking several steps back, «a little cuddling makes wonder at smoothing someone’s edges.»  
«As you did with Sam, you mean?» The Archbitch sneered at him. «A great job indeed. Walking in his skin is like wearing silk, I can assure you that.»  
Dean stopped, he was standing right in the middle of the garden. He felt a lot like Hamlet: a prissy loser doomed to die a gruesome death at the end of the play, after a lot of nothing achieved. At least, he never lusted after his own mother. Besides, just like that sad, Shakespearian son of a bitch, he was going to prove his point with a mise-en-scene.  
The Dean from the past needed a reality check, and he was going to provide it.  
 _Come on,_ he begged. _Come on, Dean. Move your ass. You need to watch this, you need to see what that thing has turned Sammy into. And you need to go back to your time and stop all of this. Say yes to Michael, kill Lucifer before he lays his filthy hands on our brother. Come on, come on, come on…  
_ He had seen _Back to the Future_ enough times to know that this would work. His death would change the future. It had too. But that egomaniac bastard seemed to need another push in the right direction, or chances were that he would have started a trademark villain’s speech and Dean didn’t want to hear it just seconds away from the grave, thank you.  
«What are you waiting for?» he yelled. «Are you so afraid of winning? Michael isn’t walking in my skin, you’ll be able to kill me without even staining your pimp suit.»  
Dean found himself pinned to the ground. His back and shoulders took the blunt of the impact; when he turned his head to look Lucifer in the eyes, leaves creaked under it. An earthy smell filled his nostrils. It was good, all things considered.  
It reminded him of the old days. When he and Sam used to dig graves and hunt relatively harmless ghosts. Dean had trusted Sam with his own life back then. Still he had lacked the force to forgive him when his brother needed it the most and now they both were paying for it.  
 _I’m sorry, little brother. I’d never leave you with this thing if I knew how to free you. But I don’t think that a splash of holy water and some Latin mambo jambo could change anything. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But I won’t be at peace either, Sam. It’s not Heaven that I’m headed to. I’m going to burn, just like you are, Sammy._  
Hurried steps told him that his younger self was no longer sleeping. He was going to see it.  
Dean stared at Lucifer and the Devil put a loafer-covered foot against his throat, in a disturbing Miranda Priestly’s fashion.  
«Are you reenacting a family memory you’re particularly fond of?» he asked, venomously.  
Lucifer sneered and Dean found himself struggling to breathe. It was then that he smelled it. The light scent of his mom’s laundry softener and that particular mix of Old Spice and motor oil that was his father’s skin.  
Dean blinked a few times. Mom was washing Sammy in the bathroom sink, his baby brother battling happily at the foamy water.  
«See, Dean? Sammy doesn’t make a fuss at each and every bath» dad whispered to his ear, cradling him closer. «He seems to quite enjoy them, actually.»  
«Mommy don’t wash me in the sink. I hate the bath, it’s slippy.»  
Mary smiled at him. «It’s slippery. And you don’t fit the sink anymore, you grumpy. You’re a big boy, now.»  
Dean beamed. «I am?»  
He blinked again and his family disappeared. The sky above him was grey, indifferent. Dean turned his head slightly to the right to watch his other self enter the beautiful garden.  
He tried to speak. _Save him_ , he wanted to scream. _Save my brother. Save him. Save him. Save him._ But he couldn’t.  
His mom was so beautiful. She was like the sun, all shiny and warm and gold. Dean smiled at her, even though he knew that something wasn’t right. He was cold. Why was he so cold, when he was in his father’s arms?  
A sharp pain shot through his neck. Dean yelled, but his parents didn’t notice. Dad placed a kiss on the crown of his head and tightened the embrace. Dean wanted to weep and cry. He was cold and it hurt so bad. But if he’d started moaning like a baby, he would prove that he wasn’t a grown-up yet and he wanted to hold little Sammy like grown-ups do. So he kept quiet.  
The pain would stop any moment now, Dean was sure of it.

**Author's Note:**

> ~ for my grumpy, beautiful J. ♥  
> I'm not a native speaker: have mercy, but point out each and every mistake. A thanks to my wonderful beta, the lovely Aizu =)


End file.
